A John Dewey source page

Originally published as:

Editors' notes

In his collection of early Dewey papers, John McDermott (1973: 148)
described this document as "an isolated piece of technical analysis of an aspect of
human activity." We believe that McDermott, uncharacteristically, missed the point.
In this paper, Dewey outlined his analysis of the experiences that make up our sense of
internal control -- exertion, attention, etc., -- that had, for the introspectionists,
provided a large part of the phenomenological basis for soul. He extends his analysis of
emotional experience to include the more subtle and diffuse aspects of the coordination of
lines of conduct.

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The Psychology of Effort

There are three distinguishable views regarding the psychical quales experienced in
cases of effort. One is the conception that effort, as such, is strictly
"spiritual" or "intellectual," unmediated by any sensational element
whatever; it being admitted, of course, that the expression or putting forth of effort, in
so far as it occurs through the muscular system, has sensational correlates. This view
shades into the next in so far as its upholders separate "physical'' from
"moral" effort, and admit that in the former the consciousness of effort is more
or less sensational in character, while in the latter remaining wholly non-sensuous in
quality. The third view declines to accept the distinction made between moral and physical
effort as a distinction of genesis, and holds that all sense of effort is sensationally
(peripherally) determined. For example, the first theory, in its extreme or typical form,
would say that when we put forth effort, whether to lift a stone, to solve a refractory
problem, or to resist temptation, the sense of effort is the consciousness of pure
psychical activity, to be carefully distinguished from any sense of the muscular and
organic changes occurring from the actual putting forth of effort, the latter being a
return wave of resulting sensations. The second view would discriminate between the cases
alluded to, drawing a line between effort in lifting the stone, which is considered as
itself due to sense of strain and tension arising from the actual putting forth of energy
(and hence sensuously conditioned), and the two other cases. Various writers would,
however; apparently draw the line at different places, some conceding the sense of effort
in intellectual attention to be sensational, mediated through feeling the contraction of
muscles of forehead, fixation of eyes, changes in breathing, etc. Others would make the
attention, as such, purely spiritual (i.e., in this use, nonsensational),
independently of whether the outcome is intellectual or

(44) moral in value. But the third view
declares unambiguously that the sense of effort is, in any case, due to the organic
reverberations of the act itself, the "muscular,'' visceral, and breathing
sensations. [1]

In the following paper I propose, for the most part, to approach this question
indirectly rather than directly, my underlying conviction being that the difference
between the "sensational" and "spiritual" schools is due to the fact
that one is thinking of a distinctly psychological fact, the way in which the sense or consciousness
of effort is mediated, while the other is, in reality, discussing a logical or moral
problem -- the interpretation of the category of effort, the value which it has as a part
of experience. To the point that the distinction between "physical'' and
"spiritual" effort is one of interpretation, of function, rather than of kind of
existence, I shall return to the sequel. Meantime, I wish to present a certain amount of
introspective evidence for the position that the sense of effort (as distinguished from
the fact or the category) is sensationally mediated; and then to point out that if this is
admitted, the real problem of the psychology of effort is only stated, not solved; this
problem being to find the sensational differentia between the cases in which there
is, and those in which there is not, a sense of effort.

The following material was gathered, it may be said, not with reference to the
conscious examination of the case in hand, but in the course of a study of the facts of
choice; this indirect origin makes it, I believe, all the more valuable. The cases not
quoted are identical in kind with those quoted, there being no reports of a contrary
sense. ''In deciding a question that had to be settled in five minutes, I found myself
turned in the chair, till I was sitting on its edge, with the left

(45) arm on the back of the
chair, hand clenched so tightly that the marks on the nails were left in the palm,
breathing so rapid that it was oppressive, winking rapid, jaws clenched, leaning far
forward and supporting my head by the right hand. The question was whether I should go to
the city that day. When I decided to go I felt more like resting than starting."

The next instance relates to an attempt to recall lines of poetry formerly memorized.
"There is a feeling of strain. This I found to be immediately dependent upon a hard
knitting of the brows and forehead -- especially upon a fixing and converging of the eyes.
At the same time there is a general contraction of the system as a whole. The breathing is
quiet, slow, and regular, save where emotional accompaniments break it up. The meter is
usually kept by a slight movement of the toes in the shoes or by a finger of the hand. As
the recollection proceeds, there is a sensation of peering, of viewing the whole scene.
The fixation exhausts the eyes much more than hard reading."

The succeeding instance relates to the effort involved in understanding an author.
"First, I am conscious of drawing myself together, my forehead contracts, my eyes and
ears seem to draw themselves in and shut themselves off. There is tension of the muscles
of limbs. Secondly, a feeling of movement or plunge forward occurs. My particular
sensations differ in different cases, but all have this in common: First, a feeling of
tension, and then movement forward. Sometimes the forward movement is accompanied by a
muscular feeling in the arms as if throwing things to right and left, in clearing a road
to a desired object. Sometimes it is a feeling of climbing, and planting my foot firmly as
on a height attained." [2]

Now of course I am far from thinking that these cases, or any number of such cases,
prove the sensational character of the consciousness of effort. Logically, the statements
are all open to the interpretation that we are concerned here with products or incidental sequelae
of effort, rather than with its

(46) essence. But I have yet to find a student who, with
growing power of introspection, did not report that to him such sensations seemed to
constitute the "feel" of effort. Moreover, the cumulative force of such
statements is very great, if not logically conclusive. Many state that if they relax their
muscles entirely it is impossible to keep up the effort. Sensations frequently mentioned
are those connected with breathing -- stopping the respiration, breathing more rapidly,
contracted chest and throat; others are contraction of brow holding head fixed, or
twisting it, compression of lips,! clenching of fist, contraction of jaws, sensations in
pit of stomach, goneness in legs, shoulders higher, head lower than usual, fogginess or
mistiness in visual field, trying to see something which eludes vision, etc.

But upon the whole I intend rather to assume that the sense of effort is, in all its
forms, sensationally conditioned. We have in this fact (if it be a fact) no adequate
psychology of effort, but only the preliminary of such theory. The conception up to this
point has, for theoretical purposes, negative value only; it is useful in overthrowing
other theories of effort, but throws no positive light upon its nature. The problem of
interest, as soon as the rival theories are dismissed, comes to be this: Granted the
sensational character of the consciousness of effort, what is its specific differentia?
What we wish now to know is what set of sensory values marks off experiences of effort
from those closely resembling, but not felt as cases of effort. So far as I know this
question has not been raised.

How then does, say, a case of perception with effort differ from a case of
"easy" or effortless perception? The difference, I repeat, shall be wholly in
sensory quale; but in what sensory quale?

At this point a reversion to a different point of view, and the introduction of a
different order of ideas is likely to occur. We may be told, as an explanation of the
difference, that in one case we have a feeling of activity, a feeling of the putting forth
of energy. I found the persons who in special cases have become thoroughly convinced of
the sensational quality of all consciousness of effort, will make this answer. The

(47)
explanation is, I think, that the point of view unconsciously shifts from effort as a
psychical fact, as fact of direct consciousness, to effort as an objective or teleological
fact. We stop thinking of the sense of effort, and think of the reference or import of the
experience. Effort, as putting forth of energy, is involved equally in all psychical
occurrences. It exists with a sense of ease just as much as with a sense of strain. There
may be more of it in cases of extreme absorption and interest where no effort is felt,
than in cases of extreme sense of effort. Compare, for example, the psychophysical energy
put forth in listening to a symphony, or in viewing a picture gallery, with that exercised
in trying to fix a small moving speck on the wall; compare the energy, that is, as
objectively measured. In the former case, the whole being may be intensely active, and yet
there may be, at the time, absolutely no consciousness of effort or strain. The latter may
be, objectively, a very trivial activity, and yet the consciousness of strain may be the
chief thing in the conscious experience. In some cases it seems almost as if the relation
between effort as an objective fact, and effort as a psychical fact were an inverse one.
If a monotonous physical movement be indefinitely repeated, it will generally be found
that as long as ''activity" is put forth, and accomplishes something objectively (as
measured in some dynometric register), there is little sense of effort. Let the energy be
temporarily exhausted and action practically cease, then the sense of effort will be at
its maximum. Let a wave of energy recur, and there is at once a sense of lightness, of
ease. And in all cases, the sense of effort and ease follows, never precedes, the change
in activity as objectively measured.

We are not concerned, accordingly, with any question of the existence or non-existence
of spiritual activity, or even of psychophysical activity. The reference to this, as
furnishing the differentia of cases of consciousness of effort from those of ease,
is not so much false as irrelevant.

Where, then, shall we locate the discriminative factor? Take the simplest possible
case: I try to make out the exact

(48) form, or the nature, of a faint marking on a piece of
paper a few feet off, at about the limit of distinct vision. What is the special sensation
carrier of the sense of effort here? Introspectively I believe the answer is very simple.
In the case of felt effort, certain sensory quales, usually fused, fall apart in
consciousness, and there is an alternation, an oscillation, between them, accompanied by a
disagreeable tone when they are apart, and an agreeable tone when they become fused again.
Moreover, the separation in consciousness during the period when the quales are apart is
not complete, but the image of the fused quale is at least dimly present. Specifically, in
ordinary or normal vision, there is no distinction within consciousness of the
ocular-motor sensation which corresponds to fixation, from the optical sensations of light
and color. The two are so intimately fused that there is but one quale in consciousness.
In these cases, there is feeling of ease, or at least absence of sense of effort. In other
cases, the sensations corresponding to frowning, to holding the head steady, the breathing
fixed -- the whole adjustment of motor apparatus -- come into consciousness of themselves
on their own account. Now we are not accustomed to find satisfaction in the experience of
motor adjustment; the relevant sensations have value and interest, not in themselves, but
in the specific quales of sound, color, touch, or whatever they customarily introduce. In
at least ninety-nine one hundredths of our experience, the "muscular" sensations
are felt simply as passing over into some other experience which is either aimed at, or
which, when experienced, affords satisfaction. A habit of expectation, of looking forward
to some other experience. thus comes to he the normal associate of motor experience. It is
felt as fringe, as "tendency," not as psychical resting place. Whenever it
persists as motor, whenever the expectation of other sensory quales of positive value is
not met, there is at least a transitory feeling of futility, of thwartedness, or of
irritation at a failure. Hence the disagreeable tone referred to. But in the type of cases
taken as our illustration, more is true than a failure of an expected consequent through
mere inertia of habit. The image of the end

(
49) aimed at persists, and, through its contrast
with the partial motor quale, emphasizes and reinforces the sense of incompleteness. That
is to say, one is continually imaging the speck as having some particular form -- an oval
or an angular form; as having a certain nature -- an inkspot, a flyspeck. Then this image
is as continually interfered with by the sensations of motor adjustment coming to
consciousness by themselves. Each experience breaks into, and breaks up, the other before
it has attained fullness. Let the image of a five-sided inkspot be acquiesced in apart
from the motor adjustment (in other words, let one pass into the state of reverie), or let
the "muscular" sensations be given complete sway by themselves (as when one
begins to study them in his capacity as psychologist), and all sense of effort disappears:
It is the rivalry, with the accompanying disagreeable tone due to failure of habit, that
constitutes the sense of effort.

It will be useful to apply the terms of this analysis to some attendant phenomena of
effort. First, it enables us to account for the growing sense of effort with fatigue,
without having to resort to a set of conceptions lying outside the previously used ideas.
The sense of fatigue increases effort, just because it marks the emergence into
consciousness of a distinct new set of sensations which resist absorption into, or fusion
with, the dominant images of the current habit or purpose. Upon the basis of other
theories of effort, fatigue increases sense of effort because of sheer exhaustion; upon
this theory, because of the elements introduced which distract attention. Other theories,
in other words, have to fall back upon an extrapsychical factor, and something which is
heterogeneous with the other factors concerned. Moreover, they fail to account for the
fact that if the feeling of fatigue is surrendered to, it ceases to be disagreeable, and
may become a delicious languor.

In a similar way certain facts connected with sense of effort, as related to the
mastery of novel acts, may be explained. Take the alternation of ridiculous excess of
effort, with total collapse of effort in learning to ride a bicycle. Before one

(50) mounts one
has perhaps a pretty definite visual image of himself in balance and in motion. This image
persists as a desirability. On the other hand, there comes into play at once the
consciousness of the familiar motor adjustments -- for the most part, related to walking
The two sets of sensations refuse to coincide, and the result is an amount of stress and
strain relevant to the most serious problems of the universe. Or, again, the conflict
becomes so unregulated that the image of the balance disappears, and one finds himself
with only a lot of "muscular" sensations at hand; the effort entirely vanishes.
I have taken an extreme case, but surely everyone is familiar, in dealing with unfamiliar
occupations, of precisely this alternation of effort, out of all proportion to the
objective significance of the end, with the complete mind-wandering and failure of
endeavor. If the sense of effort is the sense of incompatibility between two sets of
sensory images, one of which stands for an end to be reached, or a fulfillment of a habit,
while the other represents the experiences which intervene in reaching the end, these
phenomena are only what are to be expected. But if we start from a "spiritual"
theory of effort, I know of no explanation which is anything more than an hypostatized
repetition of the facts to be explained.

It probably has already occurred to the reader, that when the theory of the sensational
character of the consciousness of effort is analyzed, instead of being merely thrown out
at large, the feeling that it deals common sense a blow in the face disappears. If we
state the foregoing analysis in objective, instead of in psychical, terms, it just says
that effort is the feeling of opposition existing between end and means. The kinesthetic
image of qualitative nature (i.e., of color, sound, contact) stands for the end,
whether consciously desired, or as furnishing the culmination of habit. The
"muscular" sensations [3] represent the means, the experiences to which value is
not attached on their own account, but as intermediaries to an intrinsically valuable
consciousness.

Practically stated, this means that effort is nothing more, and also nothing less, than
tension between means and ends in action, and that the sense of effort is the awareness of
this conflict. The sensational character of this experience, which has been such a
stumbling block to some, means that this tension of adjustment is not merely ideal, but is
actual (i.e., practical); it is one which goes on in a struggle for existence.
Being a struggle for realization in the world of concrete quales and values, it makes
itself felt in the only media possible -- specific sensations, on the one hand, and
muscular sensations, on the other. Instead of denying, or slurring over, effort, such an
account brings it into prominence. Surely what common sense values in effort is not some
transcendental net, occurring before any change in the actual world of qualities, but
precisely this readjustment within the concrete region. And if one is somewhat scandalized
at being told that the awareness of effort is a sense of changes of breathing, of muscular
tensions, etc., it is not, I conceive, because of what is said, but rather because of what
is left unsaid -- that these sensations report the state of things as regards effective
realization.

It is difficult to see, upon a more analytic consideration than common sense is called
upon to make, what is gained for the "spiritual" nature of effort by relegating
it to a purely extrasensational region. That "spiritual" is to be so interpreted
as to mean existence in a sphere transcending space and time determinations is, at best, a
piece of metaphysics, and not a piece of psychology; and as a piece of metaphysics, it
cannot escape competition with the theory which finds the meaning of the spiritual in the
whole process of realizing the concrete values of life. I do not find that any of the
upholders of the non-sensational quality of effort has ever made a very specific analysis
of the experience. Professor Baldwin's account, however, being perhaps the most
thoroughgoing statement of effort as preceding sensation, in ''physical" as well as
"spiritual" effort, is, perhaps, as explicit as any. In one passage, effort is
"distinct consciousness of opposition between what we call self and muscular
resistance." Now a consciousness of mus-

(52) -cular resistance, whatever else it may or may
not be, would seem to involve sensations, and the consciousness of effort to be, so far
forth, sensationally mediated -- which is contrary to the hypothesis. Moreover, it is
extremely difficult to see how there can be any consciousness of opposition between the
self in general, and the muscles in general. Until the "self" actually starts to
do something (and then, of course, there are sensations), how can the muscles offer any
opposition to it? And even when it does begin to do something, how can the muscles, as
muscles, offer opposition? If because the act is unfamiliar, then certainly what we get is
simply a case of difficulty in the having of a unified consciousness -- the kinesthetic
image of the habitual movement will not unify with the proposed sensory image, and there
is rivalry. But this is not a case of muscles resisting the self; it is a case of divided
activity of the self. It means that the activity already going on (and, therefore,
reporting itself sensationally) resists displacement, or transformation, by or into
another activity which is beginning, and thus making its sensational report.

But Professor Baldwin gives another statement which is apparently different. "In
all voluntary movement, therefore, there is an earlier fiat than the will to move, i.e.,
the fiat of attention to the particular idea of movement." And it is repeatedly
intimated that the real difficulty in effort is, not in the muscular execution, but in
holding a given idea in consciousness. (In fact, it is distinctly stated that, even in
muscular effort, the real effort is found in "attending" to the idea.) Now, this
statement is certainly preferable to the other, in that it avoids the appearance of making
the muscles offer resistance to the self. But now, what has become of the resistance, and,
hence, of the effort? Is there anything left to offer opposition to the self? Can
an idea, qua pure idea, offer resistance and demand effort? And is it the self, as
barely self, to which resistance is made? Such questions may, perhaps, serve to indicate
the abstractness of the account, and suggest the fact that effort is never felt, save when
a change of existing activity is proposed. In this case, the effort

(53) may be centered
in the introduction of the new idea as against the persistence of the present doing, or it
may be to maintain the existing habit against the suggested change. In the former, the new
activity will probably be categorized as duty; in the latter case, as temptation or
distraction. But in either alternative, effort is felt with reference to the adjustment of
factors in an action. Neither of these is exclusively self, neither the old nor the new
factor; and the one which happens to be especially selected as self varies with the state
of action. At one period, the end or aim is regarded as self, and the existing habit, or
mode of action, as the obstruction to the realization of the desired self; at the next
stage, the end having been pretty well defined, the habit, or existing line of action,
since the only means or instrument for attaining this end, is conceived as self, and the
ideal as "beyond," and at once as resisting and as soliciting the self.

I do not suppose anyone will question this account, so far as relates to the fact that
the sense of effort arises only with reference to a proposed change in the existing
activity, and that at least the existing activity has its sensational counterpart. Doubt
is more likely to arise as regards the proposed end, or the intruding distraction. This,
it may be said, is pure idea, not activity, and, hence, has no sensational report. But
whoever takes this position must be able to explain the differentia between
instances of logical manipulation of an idea, aesthetic contemplation, and cases of sense
of effort. I may take the idea of something I ought to do, but which is repulsive to me;
may say that I ought to do it, and may then hold the idea as an idea or object in
consciousness, may revolve it in all lights, may turn it over and over, may chew it as a
sweet or a bitter cud, and yet have absolutely no sense of effort. It is only, so far as I
can trust my own observation, when this idea passes into at least nascent or partial
action, and thus comes head up against some other line of action, that the sense of effort
arises.

In other words, the sense of effort arises, not because there is an activity struggling
against resistance, or a self which is

(54) endeavoring to overcome obstacles outside of it;
but it arises within activity, marking the attempt to co-ordinate separate factors within
a single whole. Activity is here taken not as formal, but as actual and specific. It means
an act, definitely doing-something definite. An act, as something which occupies time,
necessarily means conflict of acts. The demand for time is simply the result of a lack of
unity. The intervening process of execution, the use of means, is the process of
disintegrating acts hitherto separate and independent, and putting together the result, or
fragments, into a single piece of conduct. Were it not for the division of acts and
results in conflict, the deed, or co-ordination, would be accomplished at once.

One of the conflicting acts stands for the end or aim. This, at first, is the sensory
image which gives the cue and motive to the reaction or response. In the case previously
cited, it is the image of the colored speck, as determining the movements of the head and
eye muscles. [4] That we are inclined to view only the motor response as act, and regard
the image, either as alone psychical, or as pure idea, is because the image is already in
existence, and, therefore, its active side may be safely neglected. Being already in
possession of the field, it does not require any conscious activity to keep it in
existence. The movement of the muscles, being the means by which the desired end may be
reached, becomes the all-important thing, or the act; in accordance with the
general principle that attention always goes to the weakest part of a coordination in
process of formation, meaning by weakest, that part least under the immediate control of
habit. This being conceived alone as act, everything lying outside of it is conceived as
resistance; thus recognition is avoided of the fact, that the real state of things is,
that there are two acts mutually opposing each other, during their transformation over
into a third new and inclusive act.

We have here, I think, an adequate explanation of all that can be said about the
tremendous importance of effort, of all that Professor James has so conclusively said;
This importance is not due to the fact that effort is the one sole evidence of a free
spiritual activity struggling against outward and material resistance. It is due to the
fact that effort is the critical point of progress in action, arising whenever old habits
are in process of reconstruction, or of adaptation to new conditions; unless they are so
readapted, life is given over to the rule of conservatism, routine, and over-inertia. To
make a new co-ordination the old coordination must, to some extent, be broken up, and the
only way of breaking it up is for it to come into conflict with some other coordination;
that is, a conflict of two acts, each representing a habit, or end, is the necessary
condition of reaching a new act which shall have a more comprehensive end. That sensations
of the bodily state report to us this conflict and readjustment, merely indicates that the
reconstruction going on is one of acts, and not mere ideas. The whole prejudice which
supposes that the spiritual sense of effort is lost when it is given sensational quality,
is simply a survival of the notion that an idea is somehow more spiritual than an act.

Up to this time I have purposely avoided any reference to the attempt to explain effort
by attention. My experience has been that this mode of explanation does not explain, but
simply shifts the difficulty, at the same time making it more obscure by claiming to solve
it. There is some danger that attention may become a psychological pool of Bethesda. If we
have escaped the clutch of associationalism, only to fall into attentionalism, we have
hardly bettered our condition in psychology. But the preceding account would apply to any
concrete analyses of effort in terms of attention. The psychological fallacy besets us
here. We confuse attention as an objective fact, attention for the observer, with
attention as consciously experienced. During complete absorption an onlooker may remark
how attentive such a person is, or after such an absorption one may look back and say how
attentive one was; but taking the

(56) absorption when it occurs, it means that only the
subject matter is present in consciousness, not attention itself. We are conscious of
being attentive only when our attention is divided, only when there are two centers of
attention competing with each other, only when there is an oscillation from one group of
ideas to another, together with a tendency to a third group of ideas, in which the two
previous groups are included. The sense of strain in attention, instead of being
coincident with the activity of attention, is proof that attention itself is not yet
complete.

To establish the identity of attention with the formation of a new act through the
mutual adaptation of two existing habits, would take us too far away from our present
purpose; but there need he no hesitation. I believe, in admitting that the sense of
attention arises only under the conditions of conflict already stated.

Notes

Professor James, to whom, along with Ferrier, we owe, for the most part the express
recognition of the sensational quales concerned in effort, appears to accept the second of
these three types of views. I do not know that the question has been raised as to how this
distinction is reconcilable with his general theory of emotion; nor yet how his ground for
making it -- the superiority of the spiritual over the physical -- is to be adjusted to
his assertion (Psychology, II, p. 453) that the sensational theory of emotions does
not detract from their spiritual significance

A number of cases, on further questioning, reported a similar rhythm of contraction and
movement accompanying mental effort. This topic would stand special inquiry.

Perhaps it would be well to state that sensations of tendons, joints, internal contacts,
etc., are what is meant by this term -- the whole report of the motor adjustment.

It must not be forgotten that both sensory stimulus and motor response are both in
reality sensorimotor, and, therefore, each is itself an act or psychical whole. On this
point, see my "The Reflex Arc Concept."

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